


Requiem for A Golden Age

by Rioghna



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Golden Age, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioghna/pseuds/Rioghna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode Tag for the audio adventure 'The Golden Age'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem for A Golden Age

Requiem for a Golden Age

The hum of the big cargo plane droned in the back ground as the storm closed in on them. After the third time she had almost slipped off the jump seat as she dozed, Jack and Ianto had helped her into a sleeping bag on the deck of the aircraft, just behind the cargo net barricade. It had not taken long after that for her to fall asleep. Meanwhile, Ianto was left trying to make himself as comfortable as he could in the bouncing jump seat. He thought briefly about taking a sleeping bag and joining her, but after what happened today, he wanted to spend time with Jack. 

The immortal had been quiet, ever since the time store had blown up, taking the Royal Connacht Club and Torchwood India with them. Ianto wasn’t 100% sure exactly what had happened to it. Was it trapped in its own little time bubble, frozen somewhere outside the flow of events, or had it eaten itself, the way they had powered it from the people around, finally consumed by their own obsession? Either way, they had searched the site but could find nothing. Mr. Das had helped them go through some remaining equipment that had not been moved to the club before it…whatever it did. Mostly it was supplies: cases of gin, barrels of pickled onions, new issues of the Times, and spare parts that Jack identified as a part of an old wireless, but there were also cases of high tech equipment destined for keeping up the mast and expanding the time field. Jack confiscated them in the name of Torchwood, and the Indian gentleman seemed more than willing to let them go, especially after his brush with death. 

After that it was little more than a matter of a few calls, and the three of them and their gear were loaded up and stuck on the first (and only) UNIT vehicle back to Cardiff. Fortunately there was room for their gear, unfortunately it was a C-130 Cargo plane that was never particularly configured to carry passengers halfway round the world. Now, as the plane dipped particularly violently, Ianto clung to the seat and pulled his coat tighter. 

Just then, an arm settled over his shoulder, pulling him in close. Jack’s scent was warm and familiar, and the wool coat that had seemed overkill for India, was a welcome weight in the drafty plane. “Not exactly First Class accommodations, I’m afraid,” the older man whispered against his ear. 

“Last time I let you book,” the Welshman said, as he shifted, trying to settle in Jack’s embrace as the older man held him steady. 

“What can I say, it was the only thing on offer.” Jack’s smile was a little thin though, almost a ghost of his usual 100 watt grin but he held the younger man tighter to his chest. 

“Next time, perhaps you’ll leave the arrangements to me, Sir?” he said, trying to keep it light. Jack didn’t say anything, just kissed him. After a moment, and another bone rattling jolt, Ianto motioned for Jack to release him long enough for him resettle himself. The older man shifted in his own jump seat, removing his coat, and making room for the two of them to cuddle as well as they could beneath the heavy wool. Jack, much more comfortable in the rolling plane, settled the younger man back into his arms. 

“Better?” he asked, as Ianto settled close. The fact that they were so close in height meant it was not easy, but they made it work well enough at least for the moment. The storm seemed to be growing outside the plane, but inside, there was peace. 

“Hmmm,” Ianto murmured, leaning against his lover. “Jack?” he asked, not sure how to ask his question, not sure he wanted the answer, but he thought he would ask. 

“Yes?”

“Why? I mean, what…” he said, trying to sort into words the question that had been plaguing him since the moment he had heard about their plan. Sure, there were times in his life when he wanted things to stay exactly as they were, everyone had those. But what they had been trying to do boggled the mind. “What made her world so perfect that she couldn’t let go?”

“I don’t know. I mean there was something to be said for those days, the food, the clothes, and a whole lot of new energy. They had style, I’ll have to give ‘em that, not to mention some pretty good food. But the world was changing, and fast, too fast for some. Torchwood India was a dinosaur then, most of them living in a past that never really existed.” His voice trailed off, and they sat quiet for a moment, listening to the sound of the rain and the wind, mingled with the drone of the planes engines. “It was all very…precise,” Jack said finally.

“Something to be said for that,” Ianto said.

“You would have hated it,” Jack replied. Ianto was surprised, considering all the teasing he had to endure about perfectionism and OCD, but he didn’t want to spoil it by pointing this out. He had learned over the course of the last year while they had been sorting out their …whatever it was, that there were two ways to get Jack to open up and talk about the past. The first was the laissez-faire method, asking the odd question as if it was nothing more than intellectual curiosity and he didn’t give a toss about the answer because he had no stake in it either way. It worked for those nights when they were relaxing over a pizza or on the couch taking in some mindless movie that neither one of them cared about, but were too wired to settle down to sleep. The other method was what he called to himself the ‘tell me a story’ method. This one was for those particularly long hard days, alien invasions, weevils in the city centre, and all on top of a visit by some particularly obnoxious UNIT bureaucrat who wanted to expound on why Jack wasn’t giving them more cooperation. It was for those days when he was exhausted or wounded or just too wound up from living every day at Torchwood, that Jack would tuck them both up in his bed and paint pictures of a world gone past. Of the perks of being…whatever they were, it definitely made the top ten. 

After a bit, Jack continued, as he knew he would. “On the surface it was all starch and manners, but underneath…that was a different story entirely. There was still this perception of the Empire as this overwhelming force for order and civilization. But it kept people locked into place. There were so many rules about what was and wasn’t appropriate based on race and sex and social class, and a dozen more factors I can’t even remember.” Jack continued on for some time, enumerating the prejudices that had particularly annoyed him for the last hundred or so years, and Ianto listened, knowing that his lover needed to get it out. Finally he fell quiet, talked out for the moment.

“You must’ve hated that, you’ve always hated labels,” Ianto whispered into his shoulder. It had taken him some time to get used to it, he was someone who had always been pretty comfortable with labels, a place for everything and everything in its place. Then he had met Jack, and it made him think. There were a lot of things he had never considered before Torchwood, before Jack. Certainly he had never seen himself as a member of a super secret organization hunting aliens, coming back from India on a military transport in the arms of his (male) lover who was also his boss.

“It wasn’t one of my favorite decades, no,” the older man said shortly. Obviously the story had petered out, and he was back to looking a little pensive.

“And the Duchess?” he asked.

“Nelly was…something else. All the women have been. Torchwood has always attracted women, attracted people who didn’t fit into the mold. That was good, especially one hundred odd years ago. They were people who for one reason or another were too smart, too outspoken, too difficult to fit in regular society. When I first joined, the institute was run by a woman, actually there were two here, and a black man, not an all that common sight in Cardiff at the end of the 19th century. Both Emily and Alice were ahead of their time, suffragettes of the first order, not willing to just stay home, get married, and read the articles in the Times that their fathers or husbands said were appropriate. I guess not much has changed, at least in Cardiff. India was much the same, Nelly was law unto herself, while managing to tip her hat at convention, she was anything but. That is why I am a bit confused. I would have thought she would embrace the changes, the new freedom. She wanted to keep it the same, keep the belief that her ways and her way of life were better than everyone else.” He sighed and leaned back against the rough back of the seat. 

“You and her?”

“It was part of the assignment, and you saw her, right? It was only in getting to know her that I saw how unpalatable I found her attitude. I told her I would have done things different, and I meant it. I should have found a way to transition them, ease them back into normal life, found where the problems would be, retconned the lot if necessary.” He shook his head again.

“It must all seem so backward to you, even now. We have our prejudices, racism, sexism, and a few other isms I can’t think of, how do you stand it?”

‘Oh, the future isn’t that different. Prejudice exists, just the details change. Core planets versus colony worlds, aliens of all types hate others, or humans, based on factors I can’t even begin to explain. There is a drug trade and slavers in some of the outlying systems. All things considered,” he said pulling the young man closer. “I can’t think of a place I would rather be. Ok, well maybe some place with a bed that wasn’t rattling around.”

“Perhaps when we get back to Cardiff you could come back to mine then? The bed is bigger and it has linens.”

“Sounds fabulous,” he said, pulling Ianto practically into his lap. It was clear that the talking had sorted his mood out but now he was wide awake. “But that is hours away. For now, Ianto Jones, have you ever considered joining the mile high club?”

**Author's Note:**

> This story was previously posted to FFnet and A Teaspoon and An Open Mind. But I'm busy moving it all. Please enjoy, read review etc.


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